She is close enough to me that I can see her, because even now there is the outward sign of visible light, even at night in this parking lot on the outskirts of Algoe. After we kiss, our foreheads touch as we stare at each other. Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness.

It's embarrassing that we all just walk through life blindly accepting that scrambled eggs are fundamentally associated with mornings.

I don't decide where I live. My wife decides. She's a curator of contemporary art, and she works at an art museum, so we go wherever she has a job. All basements look the same, so I can write from whatever basement I happen to be living in.

I think teenagers bring a lot of intellectual sophistication. They're wrestling with big questions. It's just that, a lot of times they do that separately from adults.

And okay, fair enough, but there is this unwritten contract between author and reader and I think not ending your book kind of violates that contract.

They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.

I want to minimize the deaths I am responsible for.